


Nothing Said

by Maplefudge



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M, Romance, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-07
Updated: 2008-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maplefudge/pseuds/Maplefudge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the Battle of the Storm. Gokudera didn't actually accept Dino's offer to get his wounds checked, but he did get convinced by somebody else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Said

**Series:** Katekyo Hitman Reborn  
 **Characters:** Yamamoto/Gokudera  
 **Rating:** T  
 **Words:** 1,315  
 **Notes:** Set after the Battle of the Storm. Gokudera didn't actually accept Dino's offer to get his wounds checked, but he did get convinced by somebody else.

  
**Nothing Said**

“Hmm,” Yamamoto said as he glanced at Gokudera sideways. The silver-haired boy was sitting on some broken concrete, smoking, and his eyes were half-lidded. “Shouldn’t you get someone to check those?” The baseball player asked as he pointed at Gokudera’s face, where blood was streaming down. When Dino offered to take him to the hospital earlier, Gokudera said the wounds weren’t that deep, and that was the end of that conversation.

“They’re not deep.” Gokudera repeated for the second time that night, and he let out a trail of smoke. The Battle for the Ring of Storm had ended that night. Gokudera had lost, after Tsuna asked him to back out.

Yamamoto laughed. Only the two of them had been left on the campus; everyone else had left. Gokudera had cursed Yamamoto in Italian and told him to get lost, but Yamamoto had just laughed and stayed there. When the silver-haired teenager finally gave up and brought out his box of cigarettes, they just sat there, in silence.

Looking at Gokudera, Yamamoto wondered how he couldn’t feel uncomfortable under all that blood and sweat.

“Look!” Yamamoto said, grinning. Gokudera followed where his finger was pointing at.

The _Locker Room_?

“Why the hell are you pointing at the Locker Room?”

“There’s running water in there,” Yamamoto explained. “To, you know, clean up.”

“I know what the fuck locker rooms have.” Gokudera muttered. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped on it with his shoe. He rubbed his eye, trying to get blood off his eyelids. It really wasn’t comfortable, but he didn’t feel like leaving the place yet.

“Let’s go!” Yamamoto said with a smile. Before Gokudera could protest, Yamamoto had taken hold of his wrist and was pulling him towards the Gym. The baseball player ignored the curses directed at him. When Gokudera was that much in pain, he really didn’t have enough strength to defend himself against Yamamoto.

Yamamoto knew, though, that he would get hell for this when he regained his strength. But for now, things were going to go his way.

“Let go!” Gokudera scowled, finally twisting his hand away from Yamamoto’s grasp. Yamamoto shrugged and opened the door to the locker room, which was probably one of his second homes. He spent so much time in that place, along with the gym and the baseball field.

“I’ve got some stuff you can borrow!” Yamamoto said with a grin, and he disappeared behind a row of metal lockers. Gokudera muttered something under his breath as he sat down and took out his box again. When Yamamoto reappeared with a few clean clothes in his hand, he frowned and said, “Really? In here?”

“Shut up.” Gokudera replied, inhaling sharply from his stick and letting out another trail. “I’m in pain.” He said sarcastically.

Yamamoto didn’t seem to be pleased that someone was smoking in the locker room, but he said nothing. He placed the clean clothes beside Gokudera.

“Fuck.” Gokudera muttered as he leaned against the wall, grasping his arms. His cigarette fell to the floor, and he raised an eyebrow when he saw that Yamamoto was more than eager to put it out with his shoe. His body hurt too much for him to care, though. “Hurts like hell.”

Yamamoto wanted to remind him that Dino had offered to aide him, but he had declined it, rather rudely, at that.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Hahaha!” Yamamoto said as he pulled Gokudera’s coat off. Gokudera grimaced as he was left in only the bandages that he used to wrap around his upper body, and he cursed Yamamoto a bit more. “This is fun! Hey, what’s with the bandages?”

“I was wounded from training, moron!” Gokudera snapped as he reached behind himself to tug the said bandages off. The end came off slowly when he found it, but he couldn’t find the strength to take it off himself. Luckily for him, Yamamoto could see he was having a difficult time, so he unwrapped it himself. Gokudera said nothing, swallowing his pride.

Once the bandages were off, Yamamoto placed his hand flatly on Gokudera’s back. His eyes were examining the cuts and bruises on Gokudera, but again, he said nothing. His frown explained it all, though.

“Don’t tell the Tenth.” Gokudera grumbled as he wiped the blood on his face off with his coat.

“You should really be more careful,” Yamamoto said simply as he took Gokudera’s coat and stood up. Gokudera kept silent as the dark-haired boy damped it with cold water from the sink. He sat in front of Gokudera, and was surprised when the Italian boy didn’t complain when he put the damp cloth against his face, trying to clean out the blood. All he got was a wince.

The baseball player stared for a while, blinking. Gokudera didn’t have much wounds on his face, he observed, once he got most of the blood off.

“They were from that _princely idiot_.” Gokudera explained, when he saw the questions on Yamamoto’s expression. “Most of the blood, I mean.”

“Ah.”

“What the fuck, baseball nut?!”

Yamamoto had leaned in and put his forehead against Gokudera’s bare shoulder. He could smell the ash on Gokudera’s skin.

“It’s not a game, is it?” Yamamoto asked softly.

The silver-haired boy grimaced. Yamamoto was heavy. He was tired. Yamamoto was leaning his forehead against his shoulder. It hurt.

“It’s not,” Gokudera grumbled. “About time you figured it out.”

“I’ll win tomorrow’s fight,” Yamamoto laughed.

Suddenly, Gokudera held Yamamoto’s wrist tightly. Blinking, the dark-haired boy looked up to see Gokudera staring down at him.

“Fuck you if you lose.”

Gokudera’s eyes twitched a bit when he noticed the sudden red that rushed up to Yamamoto’s face. Yamamoto coughed and averted his attention, and Gokudera let go of the wrist he was grasping. Yamamoto didn’t say anything else, and Gokudera wondered what that expression was all about. He forgot about it, momentarily, when the cold cloth met his skin once again. Yamamoto was cleaning off the wounds on his chest.

Gokudera didn’t say a word when Yamamoto reached over him to get the jacket which he lay out, which was on the other side of Gokudera. The Italian boy said nothing as Yamamoto slipped it over his bare shoulders. When Yamamoto suddenly gripped his shoulders, he winced, but he said nothing.

Yamamoto, on the other hand, also said nothing as he suddenly pressed his lips against Gokudera’s. It took a while for Gokudera to respond, and Yamamoto was pretty sure he'd get hit. Luckily, Gokudera's response was much more positive than that.

Nothing was said when Gokudera returned it, with much more passion. The Italian boy was suddenly against his back, against cold floor, and growling against Yamamoto’s skin, because it hurt when his head suddenly hit the ground that way. Yamamoto mumbled an apology and tried to compromise by letting Gokudera rest the back of his head against his arm. When they were that close, it wasn't so difficult.

Gokudera’s hand was soon under the dark-haired boy's shirt, caressing his flat stomach, and up to his chest. Yamamoto sat up straight and let Gokudera pull his shirt off, let Gokudera trail hot kisses on his skin, let him grasp his hair tightly with trembling hands. And when he, in turn, took Gokudera’s wrist and kissed him on the palm, the Italian shivered against him.

Yamamoto’s blue jacket which was just put on soon found its way off Gokudera’s shoulders, and discarded. A hand grasped at Yamamoto’s belt, and Yamamoto laughed when Gokudera cursed him for not being quicker. Gokudera muttered something in Italian, and Yamamoto knew he only spoke in his native language when he forgot everything else.

The next morning, Gokudera asked Dino to tend to his open wounds, like Yamamoto had asked him to. Dino had raised an eyebrow, wondering why Gokudera’s hair was so tousled, or why he was wearing one of Yamamoto’s jackets.

And, the next evening, Yamamoto didn’t forget his promise. He won his match, and he knew that this was no longer a game they simply wanted to play.  
 **End.**


End file.
